Project Pulp
by Kitrina-the-Great
Summary: What has Demona done over the thousand years while the rest of her original clan slept? We gained glimpses, but there has always been so much more to her story.


Project Pulp: 1976

Gargoyles is owned by the great mouse. Sorry for using 'em without permission, boys. Please don't sic your rabid lawyers on me.

I own all characters in this story that were not featured in the Gargoyles series. Now here comes the part where I'm a hypocrite: They're mine and you can't use them. :P

Just kidding. Seriously though, you can't use them unless you ask. (though I doubt anyone would actually want to use them...)

Many thanks to the wonderful M.C. She's the reason why my gibberish is now comprehendible and even spelled correctly. All hail M.C.!!!

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1976

"Are you sure she'll be safe here, darling," a soft spoken female voice asked.

"Yes, beloved. I've told you already. I've dealt with these people before. They are accepting," the male reassured, his voice hinting slightly at annoyance.

"Still, can't we bring her with ---" she dared to ask one more time.

"No!" he said sharply, causing the female to cringe and pull the basket containing question closer to her body. He quickly regained his composure. "It... it would not be safe. This is for the best," he said placing a clawed hand on her shoulder.

"If you're sure....."

"I am," he said, in such a way that clearly stated there would be no further discussion.

Reluctantly, the mother bent down to the welcome mat on the stoop in front of her. Tears fell freely from her eyes and onto the sleeping babe. Somehow, though the male denied and lied to them every step of the way, the two, mother and daughter, knew in their hearts that this would be the last time they would meet. The mother placed the basket on the cold, gray step, releasing ever so slowly. She tugged at the blanket and pulled it closer to the child's head. With a grave heart, she pulled away from the child. The female bit her lip and forced her tears to stop. She couldn't let her mate see them.

*My mate* she scoffed at herself in her head. She took a deep breath and faced the wiry male.

"Ready then," he asked far too easily for someone who was abandoning his child to a stranger.

"Yes," she answered. "Beloved," she quickly added, hoping he wouldn't notice her reluctance at the word.

"Good then," he said plainly, as he made a smile with his thin lips. He grabbed her arm roughly, as was his normal fashion, and quickly led her down the street. His pace was fast and hard for the female. She struggled to keep up with him as he pulled her down the closest alley.

In the thin light of the alley, he released her arm. Upon the release she habitually went to the wall and dug her claws in. She began pulling herself up, when she felt his massive hands seize her waist.

"Have you reconsidered, darling," she asked without any anticipation. She already knew the answer.

He tightened his grip and his talons dug into her abdomen. "You little bitch," he growled. She gasped in pain as the claws pierced the flesh, releasing a steady flow of blood.

He ripped her off of the wall, causing his claws to dig in even dipper into her stomach. The flesh there was now mangled and torn. His hands were becoming stained in a deep, dark red, along with her midsection.

"William," she gasped out in pain.

He pinned her to the dirty, gray ground. She felt a chill from the cool stone beneath her, rivaling the heat from the wound at her waist. He quickly pressed all of his weight on to her and pulled his face to hers. His eyes glowed white with a hot rage.

"You didn't think I'd find out, did ya Cloie," he asked, sounding more like the devil itself then the goyle she loved.

"I don't know what you're talking about, William," she whispered, with a tear escaping from her eye.

His eyes stopped glowing. The muscles in his face relaxed and he almost looked like the handsome young gargoyle she had fallen for so many long years ago. "You don't?" he asked calmly with a look of shock on his face.

"No," she whispered back.

"Oh," he said. He looked at her with such eyes. He seemed lost for a moment. What had happened and was happening seemed lost on him for a moment. He looked to her and studied her eyes and hoped to find the answer. Those eyes... As blue as the purest spring... As innocent as a lamb... So trusting.... And now so afraid....

But it was but a moment.

"Well why don't I tell you?!?!" he screamed as his thoughts came back to him. His face twisted maniacally. "You fucked around!! That brat isn't mine!"

"William, I wouldn't ever do such a thing. I love you," she pleaded, hoping he might become reasonable.

The green male raised a bloody hand into the air preparing to strike. Cloie noticed in a strange moment of calmness how it oddly looked like a bizarre Christmas tree. The hand smacked her in the face.

Her cheek felt a white-hot pain. She didn't cry out after the slap. She knew the part had to play. She just hoped she'd live to play it through.

"William, you're not well. The hatchling is yours. She's ours," she desperately ranted.

William let out a screech. His eyes didn't glow, but they did have a glint. A glint of insanity.

His hands moved quickly to her neck. "You little bitch," he hissed as his hands tightened.

Her hands were now free. She forced herself to move before her thoughts could become frantic and undirected. Her hands flew up and pushed at his chest with a quick burst of energy. She managed to toss him off of her, but, as she did, his talons cut into her throat on both sides. The bloody hands were now even redder.

She felt the blood coursing out of her abdomen and throat. Sun up was hours away, there was no way she'd make it.

"You whore! I'll kill you! You and your bastard daughter!"

*No! She was right,* Cloie thought. *Right about everything!* Cloie got to her feet and charged at the male who was forcing himself to stand up. She rammed William into the wall with all of her might. His head made first contact with the wall.

"Damn it," he yelled, as the world became fuzzy.

Cloie watched him stumble to the ground. She sighed and walked to the opposing wall on shaky feet. Leaned against it, closed her eyes, and slowly slid down to the ground. A trail of blood ran down the wall where her body had pressed against it.

*She will be here soon. She'll make everything better,* Cloie tried to convince herself. Trust and anticipation flowed over her as she forced herself to ignore the burning pain.

Her tan skin was drenched with blood, his and hers. Her sparse clothing had taken on a red hue. The light blonde hair that normally hung tightly at the base of her neck was in disarray.

A shadow fell across her face, blocking out the dim light that had made it to the alley. It was too soon. She opened her eyes to see his face. It was the last thing she saw. She heard an awful snap, and felt a nagging pain in her neck. Her pain was momentary though.

He fell to the ground laughing as her bloody body went limp. He felt fuzzy and cold.

"You fool," came a female voice from the darkness.

He continued to laugh until his body convulsed.

A shadowy figure stepped forward and kicked him in the gut with her massive, arced foot.

"Uh!" he groaned. "Oh. Hello, Mother," he smiled up at her proudly like a child. "I was strong. I made her pay for her treachery."

"You fool! She was the last female of our kind besides myself and you killed her!" the mother scretched as her eyes flashed red.

"She betrayed me for another," William yelled, still lying on the ground.

The light shown on the female as she brought her face to William's. Her red hair was like fire, bright and wild. It matched his. Her pale blue skin was illuminated by the light.

"We are the last you dult! You, the girl, the hatchling and myself!"

"But I saw her, Mother!"

She raised her hand and he flinched. "I swear it," he pleaded one last time.

Demona took pity on her son for once in his pitiful life. He was not well. "Just tell me where the hatchling is," she said in an exasperated tone.

"Yessss, Mommy," he hissed before breaking into a fit of laughter.

This was too much for Demona's patience. The backside of her hand hit his cheek. His head lashed the other way, but his laughter didn't stop. She hit him again. And again. And again. And again. His neck was raw and limp when she finally stopped. She began to massage her tired hand as she stood up.

He wouldn't answer. He'd never be able to answer anyone ever again.

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A few blocks away a child cried, cold and alone. No one noticed, save two humans. An aging couple awoke to find a child on their door-step.

Hours later things were quite. The sun rose and the city of Sevilla greeted the morning.


End file.
